by John Igo
You were hurt into silence, and then you were hurt into language. And now you have made hard joys of your pains. Complimenti!
The restraint and compression reveal to me the force of the anger, depression, love, and joy they hold at bay. Of course you have a section called "Masks" -- all of the poems in this manuscript are masks taunting anyone strong enough to explore the worlds behind them. Several made me cry, but I won't tell you which.
The silences around and in these poems have their own necessary eloquence. You have found and made your nest in the secret, tiny crevice between desolation and exaltation. From there our images take flight, singing of untranslatable knowing.
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